


Speak Softly, Love

by pennysparkle



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Masturbation, Other, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 02:03:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennysparkle/pseuds/pennysparkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Darling, please!" Eddie calls, and his voice is so close - too close, and Waylon has been breathing so hard for so long it feels like his lungs are bursting. He forces himself to keep running, legs aching with all this use after such a sedentary lifestyle. He's starting to regret the years of being chained to a desk when apparently he should have been preparing for a marathon through Mount Massive where his only competitors are homicidal patients and dying staff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak Softly, Love

"Darling, please!" Eddie calls, and his voice is so close - _too_ close, and Waylon has been breathing so hard for so long it feels like his lungs are bursting. He forces himself to keep running, legs aching with all this use after such a sedentary lifestyle. He's starting to regret the years of being chained to a desk when apparently he should have been preparing for a marathon through Mount Massive where his only competitors are homicidal patients and dying staff.

Without the breath to speak, and with the knowledge that it's useless to beg for mercy, he just keeps pushing on until he's face-to-face with a dead end. Eddie is right behind him, and though the darkness provides cover, it's too tiny a space to really believe that he won't be found within seconds.

Left and right he glances, and almost gives away his triumph when he sees the vent. It only takes a leap up onto a tabletop and then he's clambering in, feeling Eddie's hand disturb the air where he'd been just a moment ago.

Inside, he takes just enough time to steady his panicked breathing and then he moves on, dropping down into a dim hallway. That silky voice is singing to itself distantly, but it's coming closer all the time, and he ducks into a side room filled with rows and rows of lockers. Without a moment's hesitation, he slips into one and shuts it behind himself, letting out a low, controlled sigh.

"You can't hide from me, darling," Eddie says, his voice so tender and sweet and sickly, and he has to be only a room or so away already, a fact which has Waylon's breath picking up again.

He fantasizes about hiding here forever. Surely someone else would wander down soon enough and take his place, keep Eddie occupied until he forgot all about Waylon... Or like those old horror stories, the just-married bride getting locked in a trunk and dying during a game of hide and seek. He supposes, all things considered, that wouldn't be too bad an end.

"Please," Eddie sighs, his steps measured and calm as he moves into the room. "Darling, let's stop these games." The odd little uptick of his lisp has Waylon squirming in the locker, feeling at once violated and comforted, and all the more ashamed for it.

"Come out now, and I'll take care of you. I'll fix you, you'll see, we'll be _perfect_ ," says Eddie, brushing his fingers over a bank of lockers a few rows from the one Waylon is hiding in. The sound of it rattles in his head, right there with those words, and then he's thinking about being taken care of, thinking about rough hands on him, squeezing and taking, thinking about giving it all, everything he has. He shivers, a tingle of arousal making itself known in his belly.

"I'd _worship_ you," Eddie promises, his voice caressing the words so vividly that Waylon's traitorous mind can't help imagining exactly what that worship would entail. "Anything you want, I'll give it to you. You and our child are the most important things to me."

Waylon's face burns as he jerks his sweaty jumpsuit open and lets it drop from his arms, pooling around his knees to be followed shortly by his underwear. He's already a little hard, something he swears to himself has to be a result of all the adrenaline that's been pumping through him; his body's out of whack, that's all it is.

Eyes falling closed, he wraps his fingers around his cock. The touch alone riles him up and he has to bite his lip to keep from letting out any kind of sound.

"I'd love you forever," Eddie says, tongue wrapping around the words so sincerely. The morphogenic engine has fucked him up to the point that he actually believes everything coming from his own mouth, and Waylon jerks himself long and slow, head tilted forward just enough that he can hear those words more clearly.

"Let me take care of you," he's begging as Waylon spreads his thumb over the head of his cock, smearing precome over himself and making the motion of his hand easier and easier. "When I'm done you'll be perfect for me, I swear it."

Waylon chokes on his gasp, rocks his hips up into his fist as he drowns in the sound of that voice, curling through the room and filling him up with need. He thinks about being perfect for Eddie, bereft of everything he knows of himself and close to death, finds that it's not so horrifying when he's this close to coming.

"I could fill you up," Eddie says, like he's right there in Waylon's mind. "I'd never let you be empty again if that's not what you want. I _know_ how to keep you happy." And it's so easy to hear the smile in his words, the surety of his belief, that Waylon can't help imagining it next, teeth digging down into his lip so hard for so long that it finally bursts, dripping blood over his tongue and chin.

But it doesn't hurt enough to draw him away from the image in his mind, doesn't even stop him from pressing two fingers into his mouth, wetting them and working them behind himself in the tight squeeze of the locker. He teases himself first, the barest brush of fingertips over his hole, wondering if Eddie would do that or if he'd be just as sincere about it as he was about his crude wooing words.

Then he pushes in, one finger enough for him to feel uncomfortable and shameful, but not so much that he turns back. In fact, he just strokes his cock more firmly, hitching his leg up and pressing his foot against the door of the locker to get a little more space to move.

"I can feel that you're close," says Eddie, and Waylon smiles viciously at the truth in that statement. "You minx, you'll let me take care of you when I find you, won't you?"

Waylon's stomach is heavy with the need to come and he presses a second finger in, rocking them inside himself, but it's not enough; the angle is all wrong, and he just jerks himself harder, so close, so close-

"So close," Eddie whispers, and Waylon's head falls back as he comes, thunking painfully against the back of the locker. He wrings every drop of come, slick in one hand as he coaxes his fingers inside of himself, and when it's too much, he drops his hands to his sides and just breathes, coming down.

The locker opens, and there's Eddie, smiling at him so fondly. "Oh, darling. I _told_ you I'd take care of you," he says, chastising. He holds his hand out, and Waylon drops back into reality, staring down his own reckless end.


End file.
